Yeah, what I thought! I can also remember that almost directly Ed began to run Big Mike there were funny things went on over at the construction site, and I don't mean humorous! Ed would come home and tell me, "That shovel's a devil, Vilma. A big tough baby, and he's got a mind of his own. I was standing under him this morning and that shovel started to come down right on top. If the boss hadn't looked up, we would've both been smashed like that," and he plunked the flat of his hand down on the table hard.
"Course the motor was idling but the cables were locked. I dunno how it happened."
This and other things. Big Mike stuttred and stalled when they were trying to push ahead the fastest. Once it used its teeth on one of the diggers, breaking two ribs and a shoulder, and of course, Ed took the blame. All his elation was going and I secretly was sorry Big Mike had ever rumbled and trundled onto the scene. But it was evident to me that Ed wouldn't be running the shovel very much longer the way things were happening.
Yes, it sure was a bad day Big Mike had turned up! Just how bad I didn't realize until an evening a month after Ronsford had disappeared. We'd gone to bed early and I was lying there listening to the night noises, those things, whatever you call them, that chirp and squeak outside as though they never got any sleep. I could tell from his breathing that Ed was awake, too, and I guessed he was worrying how much longer they'd let him have his shovel. Or maybe he was worrying about other things.
I don't know which one of us heard the noise first but it didn't mean so much to me. Just a rumbling far off in the distance like a freight train makes crossing a distant bridge at night. Then Ed said—I remember his exact words—"Vilma, you awake?"
"Sure," I answered.
"Funny noise," he went on, and we both listened.
The rumbling continued, off in the distance. Then it seemed a little louder, or maybe the wind had shifted. We both lay there in the dark listening. Certainly, whatever it was, it was getting louder and it came to have a familiarity, but it was Ed who said, "Vilma, that's construction equipment. It's Big Mike!"
And I remember as he said it there was wonder in his voice, no more than that—just... wonder.
I asked, "What are they doing up there? Working any sort of night shift?"
"Naw. I'd know if they were."
Then in a few more seconds, "That noise is getting louder, isn't it, Vilma?"
"Yes," I agreed.
"Somebody's running the damned machine." Ed started to get out of bed. "It's coming this way. What's this? Some kind of joke?"
Suddenly something flashed through my mind. I'm not superstitious. I've never believed in ghosts or such, leaving that for the backwoods folks. But my thoughts tumbled out abruptly the way crazy ideas do at night.
"Ed, you don't suppose its Ronsford running that machine, that he's come back all of a sudden?"
My husband laughed then, and it was unpleasant with an undertone of meaning.
"Not Ronsford," he replied, and almost boisterously, "Ronsford's not coming back, Old Girl. Maybe somebody's
